


Just a Temp

by writeshite



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Other, petrichor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:46:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeshite/pseuds/writeshite





	Just a Temp

The day is drawing to a close, with the pale orange humming in the sky as the sun makes its way beyond the horizon. Inside the building that towers up into the sky, looking out over it’s own section of London, papers are shuffled and briefcases are packed away. “Good evening Ms Pond” comes the cool voice from a man clad in a pristine black suit as he rises from the end of the long table, smiling with a professional curve of his lip and extending a hand to the red head before him. Her handbag is hooked over her arm as she looks down at his open palm for a second, etching a wide smile onto her own features as she says charmingly, “Thank you, Sir. Goodnight, i’ll see you tomorrow” and leaves with a small wave.

Her heels click down the winding metal stairs as she makes her way out of the building. “Evening Mrs Pond” the half despondent voice of the secretary catches her from the desk; Amy frowns and responds with a steely mutter, “It’s Ms Pond, thank you” She’d taken to adopting that title since splitting up with Rory. She doesn’t really like to be reminded of what was, and what couldn’t be again. “Right, sorry” with an awkward grimace the secretary quirks a brow, not taking all that kindly to her tone. But it’s almost the end of the shift, and she only has to wait for the other people in the building to sign out from her little desk before she can leave. As Amy shuffles in her back the other woman leans over behind the desk to offer her a pen. A rather gaudy blue thing with feathers blooming from the top. “Cheers” Amy replies, taking it from her and resisting the urge to question if it’s a bird or a writing impliment. “So…” the other begins, leaning back in her chair as she watches Ms Pond write her name in the little book of lines and signatures. “Any interesting development today then?” Both of them know it’s just idle conversatoin. Small inane chatter to fill the void before they can leave. The seecretary is not all that interested in the development of Amy’s…Was it perfume? …She should really know. She’s been placed in their office to mind the paper work and answer the phones and type whatever’s asked of her. IT would probably be a good idea to take note of what they were actually making. She’s eased witha small relief when Amy absently responds, “We looked through some fragrances, hI have a few in mind that i’d like. And we have a name for it as well.” she sets down the pen and beams down at the secretary with a somewhat poorly hidden pride. “Oh yeah?”  
“Petrichor” Amy’s voice is soft and flowing, exagerating the word, her tone could be a voice over for a TV advert if she tried hard enough. It reminds her of old days. Of her raggedy man and their adventures. Evoking a kind of longingly pleasant nostalgia.  
“Ooh, very posh” the secretary aims her brows high and flutters her eyelids with that feigned mocking and sarcasm Amy has grown to be familiar with over these past few weeks. But she likes her. Likes her attitude. The other womans features seem to furrow slightly as she glances over Amy’s shoulder into the middle distance, “Petrichor” she repeats, tasting the word on her own tongue. “That’s the smell after rain isn’t it?”  
Amy looks puzzled. Admittedly she liked the idea of getting to explain what it meant to people who asked, like it was unheard of and unique. There’s a brief pause before she manages to get out, “How do you know that?”  
The other lets her eyes drop down from Amy’s face, taking a moment to ponder the question as her features sink and seem to freeze in a dormant state of hesitant wonder. Then her brows flicker up, her head shakes smally, “I…I dunno” her own response seems to genuinely perplex her. The information seems to have come from…from nowhere…  
Must have been a passing trivia fact, or some long since forgotten science lesson years ago; it’s a thought shared by both women and brushed off at the same time. Amy hands her back the pen with a curious look and shuffles her bag on her arm, making for the door. “Anyway…I’ll see you tomorrow, Donna”  
“Yeah, see you”


End file.
